Pretty Woman
by JustAGirl'xo
Summary: Walking down the street, pretty woman, that Peter Barlow laid eyes on during his usual drive home from work one night and was instantly attracted to - raven-haired beauty Carla Connor, who was working on the streets and couldn't believe that she'd gained the attentions of a wealthy, single bloke. Will the fiery pair fall straight into bed or will their contrasting lifestyles clash?
1. Chapter 1

**This is AU. I'm going to assume you're familiar with 'Pretty Woman', the movie starring Julia Roberts and Richard Gere - it'll be the backbone of this story. If you don't know it, it doesn't matter! Carla is twenty-three and working on the streets in Manchester. Peter's living the high life, owning a string of successful bookmakers and having the bank balance to prove it. He catches a glimpse of the raven-haired beauty one night and BAM - attraction. A lot of this story will focus on his want to play the hero, though, sticking to the movie's plotline, may also involve sex on a piano ;). I don't think I'm 100% happy with this introduction, so any comments, either positive or constructive, are much appreciated! I hope you like the idea and want to read more - just let me know! :D**

* * *

_Pretty Woman_

"I think that's just about me done for the night..." Dressed head-to-toe in designer gear, his jacket containing a pocket designed to specially fit his top of the range smartphone, his shoes so heavily polished that any passerby could glance at their reflection in them, Peter Barlow was the picturesque view of a young, well-dressed socialite. That was not to say that he hadn't worked his backside off for every single penny that he'd spent. His business, a chain of bookmakers stores situated across the globe, kept him well into the millionaire zone. As far as cold, hard cash was concerned, he hadn't had to worry about it since the young age of twenty-six. Seven years. Seven years working solidly and bringing home the goods at the end of every week. But despite his hefty pay packet, there was no significant other in his life. Whilst this meant that he could spend his well-earned cash in whichever way he liked, Peter had to admit that the thought of returning home to his luxury penthouse each evening and spreading out in front of the television with an iced can of larger before toppling into bed alone wasn't a very exciting one. Still, he thought to himself as he tugged his custom-made blazer over his shoulders and tucked in his tie, who was he to complain? He raised a hand in farewell, earning him the flash of his pretty, dim-witted receptionist's pearly whites as he grabbed his briefcase from beside her desk and headed out of the large glass doors of his office floor; out of the fishbowl, where each and every stranger could view the innermost details of his business, and back to the closed-off environment of his personal life. The one place where nobody would intrude. Reaching his beloved Porsche, Peter slung his briefcase into the back before clambering into the driver's seat and twisting the key in the ignition. Before returning home, he first had to pick up his new suit from a warehouse that he'd never heard of in his life – the quicker he ran his errand, the sooner he could return to the solace of his lonely bachelor pad.

* * *

Carla Connor crossed one knee-high booted ankle over the other, the backs of her thighs burning with pain as the rough wall underneath her dug into them. She allowed her lit cigarette, which had been balanced between her index and middle fingers, to fall to the floor, and she promptly squished it with her toes. Her tiny miniskirt had risen to barely cover her crotch, and her bralet-style top left her slim stomach exposed to the chilling breeze on that September evening. She was alone, sat on the wall on a corner of one of Central Manchester's grimiest streets. She was watching the world and its mother pass in its cars, most of which were battered, broken. Some drivers honked at her scantily clad form, others rolled their eyes and wore disgusted expressions. They all knew exactly what she was. And so was the life of a curb-crawler. After being kicked out of her house aged fifteen and sacked from her job as a barmaid at the local pub, Carla had struggled to scrimp and save to pay her rent and food bills alone. Many a night she and her best friend Suzie, a fellow worker, had sat in the dark playing drinking games to keep themselves warm. The two young women had been working on the streets for two years, and though she despised having perverted men ogling her in her skimpy clothing before taking her back to their scabby flats and having their wicked way with her she couldn't deny the fact that her occupation managed to pay the bills, and then some. That evening, she'd watched Suze reluctantly clamber into a rundown old car and be driven to the other side of nowhere but had yet to be picked up herself and was praying that, soon, a decent man would save her from spending another night alone, wrapped up in only a thin blanket to shield her from the cold. She doubted that 'decent men' ever went seeking two-bit hookers. She snorted aloud as a brand new Porsche glided around the corner, assuming that she was hallucinating from overtiredness. This turned out to be false, however, as the glistening car came to an abrupt halt beside the curb and the window rolled down. Unable to believe her luck, Carla hopped off of her uncomfortable seat and sauntered over to the possible client, her heeled shoes boosting her height by a whopping six inches and making her appear ever more the glamour model.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her common accent laced with seductiveness.

"Actually, yeah. I were wondering, do you know where-..." Peter trailed off as he allowed his eyes to roam her practically naked body, "Never mind. Who are you?" Carla grinned, folding her arms across her chest and pushing up her cleavage slightly in the process, allowing her back teeth to sink into the wad of gum in her mouth a few times.

"Somebody likes getting personal. Look, am I getting in or what? 'Cause, if you're daft enough to pass up on an offer like this, I've got to get back to looking sexy," Carla replied. Her eyes bore into his as she searched for an answer, but struggled to see a soul behind them. They were unreadable.

"I don't let any old bird in my car unless they tell me their name first."

"It's Cinderella. So you'd better get a move on because I can't be caught out here after midnight..." Peter smiled, knowingly. He understood exactly what the young, pretty girl in front of him was, and he felt sorry for her. Her legs, despite their attractiveness, were blue and mottled with cold, and goosebumps smothered her arms and bare stomach. He wasn't the type of bloke to go around sleeping with hookers as and when he felt like it, but who said there had to be any funny business involved? As far as he was concerned, keeping a young girl out of the cold for a while was an act of selflessness. The idea of having a stranger in his posh, expensive penthouse didn't phase him for a second.

"Hop in then, Cinders," he responded. Pleased with herself, Carla followed his instructions, clambering into the car and sitting with one long leg crossed over the other, giving him a direct view up her miniskirt and flashing her red lace underwear. His eyes fixed on her body in the mirror, though instead of nodding in approval, he simply kinked an eyebrow and urged the car forward. Carla smirked to herself, containing the little shiver of excitement that threatened to burst out of her; she'd never landed a punter so wealthy and attractive before. In fact, she'd never been picked up by anyone other than filthy men looking for a quick fix. She couldn't wait to spill the details of her hot night with a wealthy bachelor to Suze the following morning – but if she thought that she was in for an evening of cash, booze and rendezvous, she was going to have a hell of a surprise when she realised Peter's idea of a perfect night in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so I know that, at the moment, it's pretty much the exact plotline of 'Pretty Woman', but I promise that it will become different because I can't actually remember a lot of the scenes. I'll be adding in appearances from Carla's brother and Leanne, Peter's ex-wife, two characters that never appeared in the film. Oh, and most of the ending will be entirely different, too, it's just the first couple of chapters that greatly resemble it to get us started :). Hope you like it!**

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The hotel in which Peter was currently residing was like something out of a catalogue for filthy rich people. The two gigantic double doors were highlighted with gold and marked the entrance to a grand hallway which, true to its name, had ceilings as high as the Empire State building and large sweeping staircases, stunning red leather sofa's spattered effortlessly across the room and skyscraper pillars made from marble that towered above Carla as she wandered across the room, her head tipped back in wonder. She had never been inside a place of this splendour, nor did she ever believe that she would again, so she wanted to make the most of this once in a lifetime opportunity. Men in posh clothing rushed past her with golden contraptions carrying dozens of heavy suitcases, and elegant women tailored in faux fur coats and designer heels sauntered past towards the stairwells. She felt out of place in her miniskirt, bralet and killer heels. In fact, 'out of place' was a massive understatement. Her gaze met that of a suited man behind the reception desk, his harsh brown eyes boring into hers, though her client lifted a hand in greeting to signify that she was his guest. Suspiciously, the man nodded, saying nothing.

"What's your name?" Carla asked, her accent thick, working-class Mancunian. In response, Peter shot her an amused look and placed a finger to his lips.  
"Upstairs," he spoke, ushering her into the lift and quickly pressing the button to close the doors, before dialling the key to his penthouse suite. As the lift travelled, the pair were immersed into silence, before Carla broke the peace with a typical sarcastic comment.

"I never kiss the clients, you know. Not even if they're lavishing me with all the fineries known to man."

"You know, you'd be quite attractive if you stopped throwing a load of defences at me. I'm not trying to hurt you," Peter replied, knocking Carla speechless once again. Eventually, the lift pinged and the doors creaked open. Peter approached his own front door, large and wooden, with a shiny '1a' lettered in gold at the centre. He placed his thumb on a touchpad beside the door handle, which granted him entrance to his home. Carla held back a gasp as she stepped into the room: the cream sofa was adorned with contrasting chocolate cushions; a spacious rug covered the cool wooden floorboards; the room itself was a ridiculous size; various gadgets were scattered across the floor and tables, and a stunning chandelier hung on a firm metal chain from the centre of the ceiling.

"Flamin' 'ell..." Carla breathed, dumping her handbag on the floor beside numerous pairs of expensive shoes. She quickly managed to snap herself out of her trance and crouched beside her bag, slipping out five colourfully-wrapped little square packets and creating a fan with them to show Peter. "Okay, so there's chocolate, bubblegum, ultra-thin, tingling and pleasuremax. Take your pick, sunshine."

"Oh, we won't be needing those," Peter chuckled, sliding off his coat and hooking it over the back of one of the dining chairs.

"Sorry, love, but I don't do bareback. Imagine how dangerous that'd be."

"I'm going to run you a bath," he continued, disappearing through to the bathroom. Carla furrowed her brow and trailed after him, folding her arms indignantly across her chest.

"Hey, I'm not dirty or owt, I'm actually—" She froze in the doorway. Even the taps were clearly gold-plated, and the bathtub was larger that her entire bedroom. Peter shot her a smile, turning to face her as the warm water melted the bottom of the bath.

"Relax. Just freshen up, okay? I'll make us both a nice cup of tea..."

* * *

Carla's eyelids were smothered in a glittering nude colour, her eyelashes thickened and lengthened by her maximising mascara. They ticked her high cheekbones as they remained closed, comfortingly hot water and bubbles shielding her body. She was at peace. This wasn't to last long, as she heard a gentle knocking at the door through the depths of the water and lifted her heavy head.

"Cinders? Where do you want me to leave your tea?" came Peter's husky voice.

"Just come in. I'm a hooker, not a schoolgirl," Carla called in response. Reluctantly, Peter slowly pushed the door open and slipped inside, careful not to look at the bareness of her body as she placed the china mug on the rim of the bath. He found it hard, however, to avert his eyes, as any red-blooded male would when a beauty lay in front of him, her curves protected only by a mere liquid form.

"Feeling relaxed yet?" he asked, crouching beside her and staring serenely into her eyes. Carla smiled, adjusting her position so that she could rest her arm on the rim of the bath and her chin atop it, her front teeth sinking lightly into the skin of her lower lip.

"Very," she replied, "Though this isn't the normal way men lead me into a night of hot sex."

"I'm not a normal man. And we're not having hot sex."

"Hot, cold, whatever kind of sex you're accustomed to."

"We're not having sex at all. I'm paying you to keep me company," Peter murmured, nonchalantly, as if this were an every day occurrence for him. Carla blinked, astounded.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard."

"I... I can't. What do you get out of it?"

"Someone to talk to. Will £100 an hour convince you?"

"... I'm dreaming..." Carla whispered, her heart skipping a beat as pound signs flooded her mind. She didn't know what to make of the man in front of her, he was like no other that she had ever had the pleasure of meeting before.

"On one condition: You'll be there when I wake up tomorrow morning."

"Only as long as you're not one of those who sleeps in 'til eleven..."

"Trust me, I'm not. So we have a deal?" Peter asked, a knowing smile spreading across his lips as Carla nodded slowly in response. "Perfect." Once again, silence plagued the pair, though in spite of the compromising situation, it was not one of awkwardness. Carla's eyes narrowed somewhat, trying to search for some kind of catch within his, but was disappointed to find that they were just as genuine as they had been when she'd met him. In fact, the very shade of his eyes sent her heart into a frenzy, thumping wildly beneath her skin. She didn't know how to react, both to the feeling and to his almost unbelievable proposal, and before she was aware of what she was doing, her head was moving towards his and tilting to the perfect angle, her eyelids falling shut as she felt the warmth of his breath on her cheeks. Eventually, their lips brushed against one another's, so light and tender that Carla was barely able to feel their shape. She couldn't breathe. He moved in to peck them once again, this time nudging her upper lip to slot between both of his, yet keeping it just as gentle as the first. As they drew away, Carla's eyes fluttered open and instantly met his; she knew from his pleased expression that her cheeks had taken on a faint scarlet blush, and she tried to disguise this by smiling herself.

"I thought you didn't kiss the clients?"

"I don't. But, let's face it, you're not exactly what we'd call a 'normal' client, and there's a first time for everything..." Peter was immediately satisfied with her response. He'd been with enough women to understand the signs. He could tell by the subtle way in which her voice quivered as she spoke that she was able to feel the strong tug of attraction between them just as much as he was.


	3. Chapter 3

**A short one again:( Not had chance to proof-read so fingers crossed! I love you, reviewers! 3**

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A soft sigh passed Peter's lips as he blew a puff of smoke across the cool night air before stubbing his cigarette out on the balcony and flicking it effortlessly down to the busy streets below. He loved the city at night. From his penthouse suite, he could see the world. The very tops of Manchester's tallest buildings, tiny cars crawling along the main road, streetlights illuminating the odd little person stumbling out of a nightclub or creeping home after their curfew. This was the North at its absolute best. Even the gaggle of prostitutes gathered at the corner of one building wasn't enough to destroy the picturesque image, for now he was aware that judging a woman by her miniskirt was a stupid thing to do. Right on cue, his very own lady of the night wandered out of the glass doors of his flat and padded onto the balcony, her bare feet tipped with red and cold against the floor. In one swift movement, she hopped up onto the stone wall preventing the occupant from falling and allowed her legs to dangle towards the floor, flashing the pink lace of her underwear as she moved. Ever the gentleman, Peter said nothing, though that was not to say that he hadn't snuck a peek.

"Careful…" he muttered under his breath as he instinctively placed a protective hand on her bare knee. Her modesty protected only by one of his shirts, Carla kinked an eyebrow, her eyes flicking down to his hand before meeting his once again.

"Er, steady on. A hundred quid for doing nowt, that was the deal."

"I'm not coming on to you. I don't even know your name."

"That's generally the point."

"You're a right handful, aren't you?" Peter commented, his lips turning up into a knowing smile as he recognised the cheeky aura that she was giving off from that of himself in his younger days at school. Clearly, she'd developed this sarcastic persona through what was possibly years of working on the game.

"I do my best," Carla replied with a grin, crossing one slender leg over the other and curling her fingers over the edge of the wall for extra support. Peter sucked in a sharp intake of breath as her body rocked backwards.

"Before you fall to your death, you need to answer my question."

"That wasn't a question, it were a statement."

"Haha, you're hilarious? What's your name?"

"Cinderella," Carla replied, hopping off of the wall and flashing him a seductive glance as she sauntered past, stopping as she reached the doors.

"I suppose I'm Prince Charming, then?" asked Peter. He didn't try to conceal his roaming eyes as they rolled over her, observing each and every significant feature. The darkness of her eyelashes, the way her hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders, the way his shirt clung to and exaggerated her curves. He estimated that she was no younger than twenty-one, which put at least ten years between the pair of them. Despite her youth, he couldn't fault her flawless appearance.

"I were thinking more the wicked stepmother, myself," Carla teased, a thrill rushing through her body as he took a few steps closer to her and eventually backed her into the door, the cold from the pane of glass seeping through her clothing and toughing her sensitive skin.

"Tell me your name…" he murmured, positioning his hands either side of her, keeping an eye on her reaction. He very much doubted that he'd be able to scare a tough cookie such as her.

"What's the magic word?"

"Now."

"Sorry. I'm not allowed to talk to strangers…" Carla whispered, running the very tip of her tongue over her lower lip as she focussed her attention on his. Rather than give her exactly what she wanted, however, Peter instead placed his hands on her waist and allowed his fingers to creep their way up her body, tickling her gently. Carla let out a filth-filled giggle, which soon became a bout of hysteria as Peter's fingers circled her weakest spots.

"Well?"

"It's Carla!" she squealed, batting his hands away with a sharp slap and pressing her back up against the door again. Within a split second, she felt the soft, tenderness of his lips as they found hers once again, his uncontrollable fingers brushing her cheeks. Her own palms were pressed flat against the pane of glass behind her. He broke their lip contact and speedily began to scatter a flurry of kisses across her jaw and along her neck, stimulating a girlish moan to pass her parted lips.

"There. I think that's punishment enough. Coming to bed now, Cinders?" Peter mumbled against her skin before coaxing her to one side and instead slipping through the open doorway, leaving her on the outside, looking in and lost for words.

* * *

There was an invisible wall across the middle of the bed that night. Despite the fact that no boundaries had been set regarding sleeping arrangements, Carla had stuck to one side of the bed and Peter had found himself pushed to the other. He was watching the way her chest rose and fell as her breathing grew heavier, how her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks. Even in sleep, she was stunning. A smile graced his lips at the peaceful expression on her face, knowing full well that the poor girl had never been in such brilliant conditions throughout her entire life. For once, she was able to sleep soundly in a bed without feeling as though germs were crawling all over her because she was in need of a shower to scrub away the pawing of yet another disgusting man. He could have easily been just another dirty bloke. He'd fancied her enough. But that wasn't who he was, he was a decent man, a gentleman, even if he did say so himself. Providing her with a warm bed for the night brought him more pleasure than cold, hard sex ever could. It was as though she could read his thoughts as she slowly began to edge towards him, so much so that, if he shifted the position of his arm, they would almost be cuddling. Holding her protectively against his chest made him feel like the hero he had always to be. He urged his mind to close for a few hours, knowing that the sooner he fell asleep, the sooner he would see the beautiful stranger again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry it's taken so long - haven't proof-read this yet so bear with me, I'll sort it out ASAP :P  
Thank you for the reviews!**

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Carla scrutinised her reflection in the flawless bedroom mirror, picking out each and every 'undesirable' feature that stared back at her. Her hair had fallen into perfect tousled curls, her eyes highlighted with a dark mascara and her lips garnished with a dark shade of red, yet she was still able to find fault with her appearance. All that lit her was a dim shine from the bedside lamp, making her look every bit the princess of the night, right from her glistening eyes to her red-tipped toes, which contrasted perfectly with the jet black rug beneath her feet. Though she may have looked like an off-duty beauty queen to a passer-by, inside she felt a twang of sadness as her eyes darted to the sleeping figure wrapped up under the duvet in the bed beside her, at what she'd resorted to. The night may have been harmless, but she would have been willing to do almost anything he'd asked, providing the pay had been substantial. His attractiveness accounted to nothing; he was just a regular customer who would, naturally, want to return to his regular, daily life without laying eyes on her again. A one-off. She was somewhat irritated that she couldn't simply grab her belongings and leave before Peter had awoken, knowing that he'd not left his payment out somewhere accessible. She sighed, perching on the edge of the bed and allowing herself to slowly sink into the luxurious memory foam mattress. She had no idea how long it would take for Peter to show any kind of life, and instead focused on the slow, tedious ticking of the clock on the bedroom wall, its hands barely visible in the limited light. Fortunately, within a matter of minutes, Carla heard a soft mumbling sound from behind her and, upon turning her head, her eyes met Peter's, hers bright and awake, his reddened and sleep-deprived.

"Morning, you…" he murmured, the corners of his lips turning up into a slight smile, "Early bird catches the worms and all, I suppose."

"Yeah, well, I reckoned you wouldn't want a dirty whore hanging around, so I'll make myself scarce as soon as you've paid me."

"Don't be daft. I don't want you to leave."

"I can't stay forever…" Carla reminded him, getting to her feet and checking over her hair once more before padding out of the bedroom. She was surprised to hear him follow her, slipping on an expensive-looking dressing gown as he passed the hook on the inside of his bedroom door.

"Says who?" he replied, catching her hand in his and coaxing her to face him, "Carla, I'll pay you, if that's what you're worried about. Just stay, for one week. Then I'm supposed to be going over to America for some contract signing. Please. I've got a load of fancy dinners and important events and I look like a prat if I show up alone."

"You're barmy, you are. I don't know the first thing about fancy pants chat and etiquette. I'm a lady of the night, not a lady in red."

"I could teach you."

"You really don't know what you'd be letting yourself in for…" Carla scoffed, shaking her head in amazement as she leant back against the kitchen table and kicked one leg up into the ear, gnawing lightly on the inside of her cheek.

"You're pretty, you're fun and you're clearly not thick. As far as I'm concerned, that's all you need. It's easy enough to stick you in expensive dresses, fancy jewellery and teach you how to have a better posture. We don't all read Dickens and go to the ballet every over week, you know. I reckon you'd be just fine."

"And I reckon you're a fool."

"So you're turning down the offer of a penthouse suite and luxuries in favour of a week on the street going to bed with whatever random man nabs you first?" Peter asked, his eyebrow kinking in surprise. Without tearing his eyes from her, he slid his wallet across the table and popped it open before slowly counting out ten £10 notes and placing them in a pile in the centre of the table. He then continued to count out another £100 and placed it alongside, "This is what you can have now," he said, pointing at the first pile, "£100. If you stay here for five nights, the other pile is yours too, today. And you'll get another £200 tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. In the end, you'll have £1,000 for doing nothing but wearing nice clothes and being my arm candy for the week. You know, most women would kill to be in your position. £1,000 is a hell of a lot of money."

"You think I don't know that?!" Carla exclaimed, her eyes wide as she stared at the large sum of money in front of her, unable to believe that she had found herself in this situation, "There must be strings attached. What is it you want, exactly?"

"A friend."

"You must have plenty of those. Blokes like you aren't exactly loners."

"I am a loner. I'm single and I'm a workaholic. No kids. My mum's dead and my dad doesn't want to know. I've got a twin sister who lives with her boyfriend and young'un down Portsmouth way. There isn't anyone," Peter confessed, solemnly, thinking of his twin, Susan, his best friend. She had the perfect life. A partner, a son, a nice house and a well-paid job that came free of stress. Then there was him, with his high-powered job but lonely life. Stressed every night, turning to the bottle to drown his sorrows whenever something went wrong. Who really had it better?

"I… I'm sorry…" Carla mumbled, her eyes flickering down to the floor, suddenly finding an extreme interest in the buckle on the side of her shoe, "But… You don't want to go around mixing with riff-raff like me. I know what I am. This sort of thing, it shouldn't happen to an underclass girl with dead dodgy roots."

"But it is. So grab the chance while you can. A week of the high life, £1,000 and a transformation. What have you got to lose?"

"My dignity?"

"Got a lot of that, have you, spending the night with random old sods?"

"… I'll give you until tomorrow. You'll want rid of me by then, anyway. You'll realise that I'm too much of a handful."

"Somehow, sweetheart, I doubt it," Peter grinned, triumphantly, nodding towards the large pile of cash on the table and disappearing into the bedroom before she had time to reconsider. He didn't know if he was doing the right thing but, somehow, he knew that he'd have a hell of a good time finding out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you very much for the reviews, they mean a lot. I'm a bit worried that this chapter is a little rush, but it's been too long and I wanted to update tonight. I hope you like it :).**

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Carla's lips fluttered as she forced air through them out of sheer boredom, her eyes half-heartedly fixed on whatever dull daytime soap opera was screening on the enormous television in Peter's living room. He'd left her to go to work, despite practically begging her to spend the day with him. He had, however, left her with a state-of-the-art mobile phone and his number on speed dial, and had promised to call her at least every half an hour to make sure that she was okay. So far, this was a promise that he had stuck to. As his name flashed up on the screen of the phone for the fourth time that morning, Carla allowed it to ring for a few seconds before curling her fingers around it and holding it to her ear.

"Hello?" she murmured, absentmindedly, concentrating on picking at her devil red nail varnish.

"Hello, you…" came Peter's soothing reply, his smile evident in his tone, "How are you?"

"No different to how I was half an hour ago."

"Good. Because I've got a surprise for you."

"Okay… What is it?" Carla asked, moving to sit upright as her brow furrowed and her forehead creased in confusion, still unable to figure out why this millionaire, who had the pick of any classy woman in Manchester, had chosen her, a hooker from the slums, to lavish his expensive gifts on.

"Check the cupboard underneath the sink." Frowning, she stood and padded over to sink, tugging Peter's shirt down a little as it threatened to expose the lace of her thong when she crouched in front of the cupboard. Curiously, she opened it and peeked inside, her eyes widening as she noticed a little brown envelope propped up against the bin. Carefully, she slid her fingernail underneath, opening it, and glanced at the contents. She gasped. Money. Lots of money. More money, in fact, than she had ever seen in her twenty years. In a state of shock, Carla bounded back over to the phone and pressed it to her ear once more.

"Peter, what the hell is going on?!" she exclaimed, holding out the wad of £20 notes up and examining them under the light, "I… I really don't understand."

"It's for you."

"I guessed that, dumbarse. What for?"

"So you can go out and by a nice dress from the little boutique around the corner. Helen's. There's a grand in that envelope, and you'll need shoes and accessories, too," Peter informed her.

"Why…?"

"You and I are going out for dinner tonight with one of my clients and his wife. And she's very pretty, very fancy – I've got no doubt that you can wipe the floor with her, but try and choose something fairly… Classy. Okay? I'll be back to check on you at lunchtime and see what you've found. I have to go now, sweetheart."

"Peter, what-?" Carla's question was a second too late as the formidable dialling tone pierced her ear. With a sigh, she placed the phone back on the little coffee table by her feet and leant back against the cushions on the sofa, a faint groan passing her red lips. She loathed shopping. Being a girl of little wealth, shopping for clothes in the local discount store had deflated any passion remaining from her teenage years. Shopping was a chore rather than a leisure activity. Even armed with more money than had ever appeared even in her dizziest daydreams, Carla couldn't help but feel slightly in awe of the thought of a quaint little boutique with rail after rail of floor-length designer dresses in every single size and colour known to man. She was dreading it.

* * *

Stepping into the brightly lit main room of Helen's Boutique, Carla's eyes automatically darted around at the colourful display of ballgowns and elegant high heels. There was a display of exquisite jewellery on the counter beside the till, each diamond winking back at her underneath the blazing light. On a shelf towards the back of the shop was handbag after handbag; leather, silk, velvet, any material you could think of had its handbag or clutch bag counterpart. A few dresses hung proudly in bags over the back door behind the counter, smug that they had been selected by previous customers over their rivals. Carla felt a lump in her throat which she struggled to swallow, knowing that she was facing the daunting task of trying on hundreds of dresses until the perfect one graced her slim body. It wasn't that she was conscious of her appearance, more that she was conscious of her social class and the opinion of others of a higher status than herself. She felt entirely out of place in her little skirt and thigh-high boots, but she hadn't any other clothes to wear that would have made her presentable and more like the glamorous woman behind the counter. Head-to-toe in a dazzling shade of blue, the woman narrowed her dark eyes and allowed them to accusingly scan over Carla's scantily clad form, as if expecting her to snab a dress and make a break for it.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice just as posh and snooty as her overpriced appearance.

"Er, yeah. I'm Carla. I'm looking for a dress."

"What kind of dress?"

"One of those ballgown thingies? Y'know, with the fancy shoes and all that malarkey," Carla replied, approaching the counter with caution. The woman behind it shot her a half-sympathetic, half-judgemental smile, her nose crinkling in obvious distaste.

"I'm sorry. I don't think there's anything suitable for… Your type, in here. Try the Nike store next door," she commented, practically having to stifle a laugh.

"… What?"

"You heard me, darling. We don't have time-wasters in this store. Our dresses cost hundreds of pounds. Something tells me that that's a little out of your price bracket."

"But-…" Carla's comment was cut as the woman spoke over her, her lips pursed.

"Please leave, before I have to call security and have to have you escorted off of the premises." Dejectedly, Carla turned on her heel and shuffled out of the shop, angrily slamming the door closed behind her. As she began her journey back up the street towards the hotel in which she was staying, she groaned, noticing Peter's car pull up outside. She'd hoped that he would be late home from work so that she'd have time to beg the security man standing outside the main doors to provide her with directions to a significantly less snooty dressmaker's. No such luck. She slowed her pace and watched as Peter hopped out of his car, waved to the security guard before moving inside the large hotel complex. As if she wasn't enough of an embarrassment, Carla was certain that, after hearing her story, he would think twice about hiring her as his escort for the duration of the week.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry it's a bit short, naff and all that. It's the only update of any of my four stories that there will be while I'm on holiday and I only had an hour to do it; I hope it's acceptable, though. Let me know, and thank you for the reviews 3.**

* * *

"Peter!" Peter spun on his heel as he heard his name echo through the hallway of the glamorous hotel in which he resided, his lips spreading into a broad grin as he caught sight of Carla sashaying towards him, her dark hair pulled over either shoulder and framing her elegant cheekbones. He was unable to deny that her beauty made his breath catch in his throat whenever he had the privilege of laying his beady eyes on her. His forehead creased in confusion, however, as he observed her lack of carrier bags, or even enthusiasm in shopping with more money that she'd had in her entire lifetime.

"Hey, you. I thought you were going shopping…?"he greeted her as her light footsteps came to a halt in front of him. It was then that he noticed the flushed crimson shade of her cheeks and the way that she avoided his gaze by examining her toenail varnish.

"So did I…" she mumbled in response. Peter's frown deepened as he slid his finger underneath Carla's chin and tilted her head upwards, leaving her no choice but to look him in the eyes.

"Explain…?" he prompted. Carla sighed before answering, her voice heavy with embarrassment.

"I went in there and it was amazing. They had all these dead posh dresses hanging up on every wall and loads of displays of shoes and handbags and tiaras. It were a woman's heaven. But the woman behind the till was this proper snooty bitch, babbling on about how there were nowt for 'my type' in her prance-y dance-y dress shop. Then she threatened to phone security, so I left. She probably thought I'd try to nick something. I don't blame her; I look like a thug in drag."

"She kicked you out?"

"Yup. And if you think I'm going back in there, you can go fu—"

"Carla, you can't let people like that walk all over you. I'm going to go in there and put her straight…" Peter replied, stepping past her before she could complain.

"Peter, wait." Carla grabbed his wrist as he passed to prevent him from leaving, though the touch of his skin sent an electrical pulse of what felt like desire through her veins. Instantly, she dropped it, instead meeting his eyes and silently pleading with him to stay.

"I'm not letting them treat you like this."

"I'm used to it."

"Yeah, well I'm not. And in my world, people don't treat other people like something they scraped off of the bottom of their shoe. Excuse me," Peter mumbled, turning sharply and striding speedily out of the main doors of the hotel, not even stopping to greet the footman beside them. Carla was left to trail reluctantly after him.

* * *

Carla had never been placed in a more awkward situation in her entire life. Peter was snapping furiously at the stuck-up woman behind the counter, having humiliated her within every inch of her life five minutes prior. Try to channel out of the conversation, Carla instead took a wander around the quaint dress shop, her eyes first scanning over the exotic patterning of a dress in the very corner before falling to the price tag. £1,099 for a slice of material. Unreal. Extortionate prices seemed to be a common theme as she made her way along the rack of stunning designer dresses. One grand. Two grand. Three grand. The rack was endless. All too soon, she heard her name penetrate her little dream world as Peter beckoned her over to the counter, where she was met with an apology, a discount, and an offer of the assistance of one of Manchester's finest stylists to find her the perfect dress.

* * *

Checking his watch was quickly becoming a habit of Peter's. It felt as though Carla had been shut away behind a thick, red curtain for hours, though, in reality, she'd been gone a matter of five minutes. She'd taken a huge pile of dinner dresses with her, and Peter had heard many grumbles and complaints coming from the direction of Carla's location. Shopping had never been a passion of his. Though he was living the lifestyle of the filthy rich, he had chosen to spend his money on his home and had hired people to shop for him. Having a woman around was teaching him about aspects of life that he had never really considered, such as the height of shoe heels and the clashing of red and blue. He would pay any price for the smile that had been plastered across Carla's face as she'd leafed through dress after dress, commenting on the way that they fell from the waist and how the neckline would highlight her cleavage. She looked at home. Comfortable. As if she was worth a lot more than her knee-high boots and skimpy leather jacket. Peter's head shot up as he heard an exaggerated cough from the direction of the changing room, sitting up straight as the stylist gave him a weary smile, stepping aside and curling her fingers around the edge of the curtain.

"The new and improved Miss Donovan," she announced, drawing the curtain and revealing Carla, who was dressed in a stunning floor-length red dress that was hitched in at the waist and draped down to her feet. The upper half was a lace corset, strapless, pushing Carla's chest up to a modest amount whilst drawing attention to her slim waist. The dress was detailed with diamantes, a deep shade of red to match the tone of the material, and threads of glittering red lace, which weaved in and out of the sparkles. Her hair had been pinned to one side, making her seem ever the innocent princess. By this point, Peter's mouth had dropped open, his eyes scanning Carla's new form, lingering in obvious places.

"What…?" Carla asked, an amused smile appearing on her lips, "You don't like it?" Peter shook his head as he rose to his feet and took a few steps towards her, his eyes continuing to take in the way that the dress both hugged Carla's figure yet made her look sweet and innocent at the same time. He paused in front of her, his hand brushing the material that hung around her thighs, the silk soft against the backs of his fingers.

"You look…" He shrugged, unable to find any words to express the draw of attraction that he was experiencing.

"I look what…?" Carla prompted.

"You look beautiful…" As Peter's gaze met Carla's, he felt a familiar thudding within his chest, much heavier than he was used to. His heart was racing. The chemistry that was simmering away between them could be spotted a mile off, though the pair remained completely oblivious to the feelings of the other.


	7. Chapter 7

**Apologies for any typos - I'm shattered! Hope you like it :)**

* * *

As Carla stepped out of the door of the suite, Peter's breath was taken away once again at the way her dress flattered her delicious curves yet made her look exceptionally classy. She'd perfected her outfit with a pair of red lace gloves, heels of a medium height, unlike her usual choice of footwear, and diamond jewellery, which Peter had borrowed from a store a few streets away. Her lips were painted a warm red to compliment the shade of her dress; not trashy, as before. Likewise, her eyes were styled to look classy and elegant, several shades of grey and silver blended into one. She looked absolutely stunning. Silently, he held out an arm, heading in the direction of the elevator as soon as she'd slipped hers through his, the touch of her hand sending a jolt of electricity through to his heart.

"What if I cock up?" Carla asked after a long pause, her eyes unable to meet his through sheer embarrassment. Peter sighed, pressing his fingertip against the circular touch button inside the elevator to transport them to the third floor, before returning his hand to Carla's, giving it a gentle, comforting squeeze.

"You won't. All you have to do is sit there and look pretty. And you've mastered that one already. Look at you. You're gorgeous…"

"Urgh. You're soft, you are." Peter chuckled. His eyes flickered to a tiny speck of black situated on Carla's cheekbone, which he brushed aside with one quick flick of his finger. Her cheeks scorched scarlet at his touch.

"Eyelash…" he explained, lifting his finger to just below her heavily-glossed lips, "Make a wish…" Carla's eyelids fluttered closed as she gently blew on the pad of Peter's finger, sending her eyelash gliding to the floor as some of her dizziest daydreams filled her mind. Dizzy daydreams that she certainly wasn't prepared to share with the man in front of her. Again, the room was filled with tension, quiet enough to hear two identical heartbeats, both beating perfectly in time with one another. Their eyes too afraid to meet, for fear of creating yet another moment. Carla breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator came to a gentle halt at the ground floor and the doors slid open with ease, allowing them to step onto the marbled flooring of the reception area. Carla's breath was still taken away as she observed the elegant chandelier hanging on a golden chain from the sky-high ceiling, or the giant double doors with security guards positioned either side to prevent unwanted intruders. It was like a dream. Together, they made their way through to the glamorous five-star restaurant; on their entrance, a fairly large man dressed in what was clearly a ridiculously expensive designer suit rose to his feet and held out his gorilla-like hand, his fingers spread wide.

"Peter Barlow, it's so good to see you again," he beamed, even more so as Peter excepted his hand and shook it firmly, "And who is this beautiful young lady? I find it hard to believe that you've managed to pull a cracker like this!"

"Roger, this is Carla. Carla, Roger."

"Carla, it's lovely to meet you," Roger responded, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a disgustingly sloppy kiss against the back of it,

"Peter's kept us in the dark about you. You must be special. Normally you can't shut him up when he starts bragging about all of the women he's—"

"Yeah, cheers, Roge, I think maybe we should get started on the meeting, don't you? What time's James supposed to be getting here?"

"For desert. He's been held up in Liverpool and hasn't got a car. I'll fill him in when we get back to the office tonight. Have a seat…" Carla felt like a proper lady as Peter slid her seat back for her before taking his own. Underneath the table, she felt the warmth of his hand brush over her lap, his fingers lacing with hers, hidden from the view of any observers. He had faith in his raven-haired beauty.

"So, Carla, where is it that you're from?"

* * *

Over an hour passed without a hitch. Carla had gone down a storm with Peter's business associate, her sharp mind and wit making for extremely intense conversation. Peter was proud of his prodigy. She was quickly turning into a real young woman rather than a girl typical of her profession. That, however, was all about to change, as Roger's business partner, the charming yet vain and self-centred James Baker strolled into the room, his suit jacket thrown over one shoulder, demonstrating that he considered himself to be the king in the room. As soon as Carla's eyes met the cold, eerily familiar slits that were his, she caught sight of a flicker of recognition in his face. She didn't know if he could pinpoint exactly where he knew her from, but she wasn't willing to wait around to find out.

"Peter…?" she hissed, feeling for his hand underneath the table and gripping onto it slightly, "Peter, that's Mr Baker… Shit. He's one of my clients. He can't see me, he knows exactly who I am!" At her words, Peter threw a glance over his shoulder at the man who he was ashamed to have been professionally involved with for many years, wondering whether some of the vile descriptions of acts that Carla had given him had ever related to him. Probably. James wasn't renowned for his consideration of other people, particularly two-bit hookers who, as far as he was concerned, needed him. He nodded slowly.

"Okay, love. You disappear, wait for me just outside. I'll be five minutes, tops." Instantly, Carla leapt to her feet and sped past James as she hurried out of the restaurant, launching herself against the outside wall as she reached it and pausing to take a deep breath. She didn't know what she was doing. She was putting Peter's career at risk as well as her own. He couldn't be caught with a prostitute as his arm candy. Her little black book was full of names like James Baker's. She dreaded how many more of Peter's associates she had been forced to bed in the past. Only a few minutes later, she felt Peter's presence by her side, her heart sinking at the grave expression etched across his face.

"He recognised me, didn't he? Oh my God, Peter, I'm so sorry. I've ruined everything…"

"James Baker is irrelevant. He's nothing to me."

"You should be making allies in the business world, not enemies. Peter, I—"

"Carla, will you just shut up and let me get a word in edgewise? He's irrelevant because I've cut our business ties. I don't want to work with a misogynist who's treated you like shit." Carla bit her lip, her eyes darkening with apology for the consequences of her actions.

"You didn't have to do that for me."

"I know. But I wanted to…" Peter replied, slipping an arm around her waist and giving her a reassuring squeeze as he led her this time to the grand staircase, not yet wanting to call it a night and return to their room, "Come on, Princess. Let's just enjoy the rest of the evening…"


	8. Chapter 8

**Finally, it's here! Let me know if you think it sounds a little rushed/out of character/jumpy and I'll rewrite it!**

* * *

The unexpected pair soon found themselves in the spacious, under-decorated lounge area, containing only a couple of expensive-looking sofas, a potted plant separating the two, and a large, black piano, its lid unfolded. Peter was sat on the stool, subconsciously staring at a dreamy-looking Carla, who had kicked off her shoes and discarded them on the floor and instead kicked her legs out across the sofa, her head propped up on her elbow. As her focus slowly adjusted and her eyes met Peter's, she found herself smiling in confusion, her cupid's bow-lips still displaying a hint of deep red, a sexy shade without looking too tarty – or too 'whore', as she herself referred to it.

"What?" she asked, her front teeth scraping gently at the skin of her lower lip before slowly releasing it. Peter returned the smile, somewhat bemused himself, and shook his head.

"Sorry. I was just… Well, I was just thinking… Why do you do what you do?" Carla was silent for a moment, her dark, perfect eyebrow arching.

"I don't follow…"

"You know… What made you step out onto the streets that very first time?" Peter asked. His mere words brought a flood of memories back to Carla, flashbacks of her past and the family that she had left behind filling her mind. She sighed. She knew exactly why. Being strapped for cash as a teenager in Manchester had brought her endless problems. She'd spent many months feeling isolated as others her age went shopping and wasted their money on labelled clothing and other luxuries whilst she'd hovered in the background, trying to keep her friends in the dark about her penniless life.

"I were skint," she admitted, "Our Rob were the favourite. Every penny Mum had went on him. Me? I were left to buy my own stuff and look after myself. And if you're an estate kid like I was, getting a job ain't that simple. I couldn't find anything. So, this lad I knew offered to… Pay me. For sex. I did it, and I couldn't believe how simple it was. So I did it again, and again, and again. And once you get into that kind of habit, it's hard to get out of it. I mean, think about it: if I was to stop doing what I do, I'd have nothing. And it's not like I'm screwing a bunch of chavs with nasty breath and shitloads of diseases. A lot of the blokes pay me well."

"And that makes it all okay, does it?"

"No. Don't get me wrong, if I could do anything else, I would. I am a normal woman; I'm not just my career. If you could even call it that."

"You know, I could always help you try to find something else. Blokes in my field are always looking for receptionists and whatnot. I'm sure you'll be able to learn shorthand and how to work the filing systems," Peter replied, secretly hoping she'd agree so that he could offer her a position at his own company, purely to keep her in his sights. If he hired her, he knew that he could keep an eye on her. For some bizarre unknown reason, he felt responsible and protective of the young woman in front of him, a position that he was entirely to blame for. He'd taken her under his wing and, as far as he was concerned, that was where she should stay, away from the brutal world in which she claimed to have grown up, regardless of the consequences for him. Compared to her, he'd been more than lucky and privileged.

"Once a hooker, always a hooker. As soon as the boss found out about my past, I'd be sacked and back to square one."

"At least consider it, though. You could always come and work for me. What you are doesn't bother me in the slightest."

"Oh, I bet it doesn't…" Carla snorted as she rose to her feet and slowly made her way over to Peter's seat, stopping directly in front of him. She'd changed from her ballgown into a simple black dress, which clung to her curves and highlighted her best features. Naturally, Peter noticed this instantly. He was almost drooling as he scanned her perfect form, right from her slim, tanned legs to her heavily made-up face.

"What?"

"I bet you think I'm dead easy, don't you? You know, you reckon that, after a few months of working with me, you could get your leg over, just like that?"

"N-..No. Of course I don't."

"You wouldn't be the worse I'd slept with," Carla replied, nonchalantly. She suddenly perched on his lap and slung an arm around his waist, in more of a casual way rather than a romantic or sexual one, though, inevitably, there was a strong force of sexual attraction between the two of them.

"Oh, aye? I'd like to think I ranked a little higher than that…" Peter murmured, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead as his hand crept to her hip, his fingers massaging her muscle ever-so-lightly.

"You can't, can you? Because I haven't slept with you yet," Carla pointed out, her breath catching in her throat as she felt the brush of his hand, causing a wave of goosebumps to appear across her arms and stomach.

"Yet…" There was a brief hesitation before Peter slipped his finger underneath Carla's chin and tilted her so that he could brush his lips against hers, their second kiss since their meeting. This time, there wasn't the situation of a prostitute kissing her client. Carla was well aware that Peter was a lot more than merely a paying customer. As she eagerly moved her lips in time with his, she allowed her tongue to run lightly along his lower lip, teasing them apart, before sliding it into his mouth and meeting with his. Her hands soon found their way into his hair, her fingers entangling themselves in his perfectly-trimmed mane. For the first time, she was in control. Usually, any kind of physical intimacy with a man would involve her being used as an object, forced to do exactly what the man wished for. But this time, every moment was down to her, every swirl of her tongue and every peck of her rosebud lips. Though his hands roamed her body, he kept his movements to a minimum as a reminder that he was not like every other man Carla had had the misfortune of coming across. Instead, he was her lover. His arms snaked around her waist and, in one swift movement, he lifted her onto the piano, where she perched on the lid and separated her thighs so that he could slot perfectly in between, their relatively timid kisses becoming passionate, needy, and an obvious indicator of exactly what was to come as their tongues thrashed wildly and their bodies worked together as one.


End file.
